


When The Mockingbird Stops Singing

by Ningikuga



Category: Atop the Fourth Wall, That Guy with the Glasses/Channel Awesome
Genre: Father Figures, Gen, Magic, Paternal Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 07:23:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4295820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ningikuga/pseuds/Ningikuga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Linkara is kidnapped by an old foe, and his team has to get him back - but Linkara's past isn't the only one that haunts Harvey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When The Mockingbird Stops Singing

**Author's Note:**

> For [this prompt](http://tgwtg-meme.livejournal.com/1329.html?thread=1752625#t1752625) on the TGWTG kinkmeme over on LJ. 
> 
> This work is intended to depict characters/personae, not real people, and absolutely no implications about the people who write and play those characters are intended or should be inferred.

“Dude, this is totally that nostalgia guy’s fault,” ‘90s Kid grumbled as he reached a sudden T-intersection in the corridor they were racing down. “He shoulda known that Mallet-kite guy wasn’t dead.”

“I think they were a little busy at the time,” Harvey huffed as he pulled up behind the teen in the baseball cap. The shuttered coffee shop they’d broken in through was now well behind them, but the scents of stale espresso and slightly spoiled milk still hung heavy in the air.

‘90s Kid leaned down, his hands propped on his knees as he tried to gulp air. Breaking in after hours had taken a little muscle, sure, but they hadn’t been running that long yet; either they were both more out of shape than they wanted to admit, or the plasma rifle was heavier than it looked. “Which way from here, dude?” he wheezed.

Harvey glanced down at the oversized gadget strapped to his left wrist instead of a watch. “According to this thing, he’s almost directly ahead of us and up a floor. You see a stairway around here anywhere?”

“Uh-uh,” ‘90s Kid replied. He glanced down the hallway to either side. “No exit signs, either. Bogus.”

“The good news,” Harvey said, “is that it only reads four living things in the building. That must be us, Malachite, and the kid. If there are any goons, they’re gonna be robots.”

“Or totally gnarly undead abominations?” ‘90s Kid asked, staring off to the left. Something flew towards his right shoulder; he dodged at the last second, and the projectile splattered instead of exploding.

Harvey glanced over the teenager’s head and groaned. “I think that’s actually technically an elemental abomination, but yeah. Get it!” He ducked back to the corner for the meager cover the drywall would give him and whipped out his tommy gun, spraying bullets at the thing. It looked like a shambling pile of mud with arms. Three arms, as if two weren’t enough.

It wobbled, swaying in place and burbling, then shifted to the left and flung a glob of itself at Harvey. He dodged just in time; he was not paying to have this suit dry-cleaned again this week.

“Hold up, I think I got it,” ‘90s Kid shouted, and the mud elemental changed course again, aiming another mud blob at the idiot. It hit him right in the face, just as he got his big ugly gun up and fired off a plasma round at it.

Harvey let off another volley, hoping to distract it. ‘90s Kid swept off his shades and re-aimed; the two nailed it from both sides simultaneously. A stray bullet hit it on the plasma side and made a _plink!_ noise instead of a thud.

“Hey, kiddo, can you increase your rate of fire?” Harvey yelled over the thunder of the tommy gun. “I think it’s made of clay!”

“Huh?” ‘90s Kid called back, but he twisted a dial on the side and the big gun switched to a continuous plasma beam. Sure enough, after a couple of sweeps across its legs, the mud elemental was frozen, or, more accurately, fired in place.

“You figure Malachite summoned it down here, or summoned it up there and sent it down the stairs?” Harvey wondered, as ‘90s Kid finished rendering it into an abstract terracotta statue in the middle of the intersection.

“I dunno, man,” ‘90s Kid replied as he retrieved his sunglasses and wiped them on his shirt, “but either way, I can’t see him sending it the long way around. Let’s check that way first.” Sure enough, there was a stairwell at the end of the hallway, and while the floor was clean enough, the bannister was streaked with silt. 

‘90s Kid glanced down at his gun’s power pack. “All that extreme shooting used up a lot of juice, dude,” he whispered. “I’ve only got a few shots left unless I can recharge this thing somewhere.”

“Let me go first,” Harvey whispered back, “and you can cover me. That way if we need to go in firing, you’ll get to make all your shots count.”

“If the only two people in there are Linkara and the Mallet-kite guy,” ‘90s Kid protested quietly, “we don’t wanna go in shooting anyway.”

“Actually, you have a point,” Harvey conceded. “But let me go first anyway.” They crept up the stairs, feet nearly silent on the treads.

The next landing was dark; even the emergency lights were out. ‘90s Kid blinked against the dimness. “Okay,” he whispered, “I guess we’re following your tracker thingy, ‘cause I can barely see the door.”

“If it’s laid out anything like the first floor,” Harvey said under his breath, “it’ll almost be a straight shot. Cover me.” 

He pushed the stairwell door open and glanced around; the hallway was empty and even darker than the landing. Harvey glanced down at the scanner; they were three doors away, two, one - and there they were, two blips on this side of the door, two on the other side.

He tried the doorknob, very carefully. Locked, of course. Not like anything involving these youngsters was ever easy. And it wasn’t one of the shoddy spring-loaded locks that could be picked with a knife-blade, either.

Well, Malachite was going to know that they were coming in a second, anyway. He nodded to ‘90s Kid, raised his own gun, and blew the lock off. His and ’90’s Kid’s shoulders hit the wood simultaneously; as it swung open, Finevoice brought the tommy gun back up, barking, “Nobody move!”

“I wouldn’t think of it,” a calm voice replied. On the other side of what looked like an empty office block, the dark-haired wizard stood in a coffee-stained apron next to an armless rolling chair. Linkara was tied to it with bright yellow nylon rope, his feet splayed and bound to the wheel base and his arms pulled tight behind him. His coat, glasses, and hat were missing, and half-dried blood was crusted over half his face and his collar. His eyes were closed, his head drooping against his shoulder, either barely clinging to consciousness or utterly exhausted. Malachite’s left hand was planted firmly on Linkara’s right shoulder, as if he were holding him up.

Still aiming the gun at Malachite’s head, Harvey growled, “Give the kid back, and nobody gets hurt.”

“You must be joking,” Malachite chuckled, and his right hand flicked twice, erupting with light. 

Lightning bolts struck Finevoice and ‘90s Kid each in the chest and sent them sprawling; under the crackling, Harvey could hear the plasma cannon skidding across the tile floor. “Extreme, but bogus,” moaned the voice behind him as Harvey brought the tommy gun back up and returned fire.

Malachite had his right hand up flat now; the bullets slowed to a crawl, then stopped a few feet from the wizard, suspended in the air like flies in amber. Damn. Apparently the kidnapper’s hatred of technology didn’t extend to skipping the Matrix movies. Or maybe that spell was originally for stopping arrows.

Harvey stopped firing; better to save the ammo. He blinked as Malachite gestured dismissively and the hot lead dropped to the floor in a heap. They should’ve brought backup, Harvey realized, either the ninja or the robot or both; for all that the database said the old wizard was mostly harmless without his gem and gauntlet, he seemed to still be wielding some pretty powerful sorcery.

“Okay,” Harvey growled through tight lips, “what do you want?”

Malachite tipped his head back and regarded the two men on the floor with an analytic gaze, as if he were memorizing their outfits and weapons. Harvey felt like a bug under a microscope; that the ancient wizard’s eyes looked like the jet cabochons on a femme fatale’s necklace didn’t help.

“Quit staring into my soul like that. So not cool,” ‘90s Kid whispered.

“Shaddup,” Harvey hissed back. The last thing he wanted was for the wizard to get offended; their job was to get their boss back - defeating indescribable evil could wait until later.

After what seemed like an eternity, Malachite made a noise that might have been either a dismissive huff or an aborted chuckle. “What I want,” he said, “is the world of magic and wonders that should have been. This technological abortion of a culture you worship is a mistake, and I aim to erase it.” He looked down at the half-conscious reviewer in the chair and smiled mirthlessly. “And this one has the key to that world that should exist. Somehow, he has integrated magic and technology together, and such an abomination should not be possible. It is my aim to find out how he did it.”

“Seems like just asking him might get you better results than tying him up and beating him half to death,” Harvey suggested. ‘90s Kid shifted behind him; Harvey hoped that he’d at least wait until Malachite was distracted before going after the plasma rifle.

“Oh, we had a nice long chat after the coffeshop closed for the day,” Malachite agreed. “Then he realized that I do not share his relatively sunny ideas on the fundamental nature of magic, and tried to leave. I had to restrain him.” The hand on Linkara’s shoulder shifted to the back of his head, tilting it up to face Harvey. “However,” Malachite continued, “I haven’t laid a hand on him, at least not in the sense that you mean.”

“Then why’s he bleeding like that?” Harvey demanded.

Malachite sighed, as if he were losing patience with a dull child asking too many questions. “Because I have been stripped of nine-tenths of my powers and do not have my stone,” he explained.

“But you have his -” started ‘90s Kid. Harvey managed to shoot him a scalpel-sharp look before he finished. “- magic stuff.”

“I do,” Malachite chuckled, “in more ways than one.” He pried open one of Linkara’s eyes halfway; a glimmer of electric blue light shimmered from between the lashes.

“Duuuuuude! You’re using him as a battery, aren’t you?” ‘90s Kid realized aloud. Harvey flinched; he should have figured that out when he first saw the old wizard propping the kid up like that.

“Given that I’d prefer not to know what a battery is, I’d have said he’s serving as a reservoir of life-energy for my magical skills, but in essence, yes, that’s correct,” Malachite conceded. “And now that we all know where we stand, and since I’d rather not have to draw enough from your half-trained sorcerer’s apprentice to damage him permanently, it’s time for you two to die.” His right hand flashed through the air, outlining a glowing scarlet glyph twice in a fraction of a second; the glyphs leapt towards Harvey and ‘90s Kid, bursting into flame as they went.

“Dive!” Harvey barked, rolling into an empty cubicle on his left. He managed not to be where the fireball landed, but instead of exploding, the mass of sourceless flames uncoiled into a long and ropy shape, like a snake or a tentacle or something.

Well, the tommy gun almost certainly wasn’t going to be of much use against _that_ ; Harvey rolled over and slung it onto his back. The teenager apparently hadn’t realized that; Harvey could hear the plasma gun blasting at the other hentai-tentacle fire elemental over the roar of the flames.

The only other object in the cubicle was a wire wastepaper basket. Well, at least it wasn’t flammable. Harvey grabbed it and swung it between himself and the creepy fire snake as he clambered to his knees. The elemental took the bait and struck for the basket instead of him, rebounding off of the metal base and crackling angrily.

Whoops. Apparently whoever had moved out of this space had left one last batch of junk mail in the bottom of the basket. And now it was on fire, too. Great.

A blast from the plasma rifle whiffed past both elementals and slammed into the cubicle wall behind Harvey, leaving a smoking hole. Well, it was an exit, anyway; he scrambled backwards through the breach, fending off the elemental’s next strike with the smoking basket.

The cubicle behind it was one of the fancier ones, with a built-in desk surface and bookshelf. Harvey jumped up onto the desk; there, now he could see the idiot, the wizard, and the kid again, although the fire-snake-things and his smoldering trash bin were producing enough smoke that it wasn’t as clear as he’d prefer. On the other hand, at least he was used to having a bit of smoke in his eyes; he could hear at least one of the two kids wheezing.

Wait . . . smoke. Harvey’s eyes scanned the ceiling and found a familiar blinking red light, above him and slightly to the left. The fire-tentacle slammed down on the wall of the cubicle; Harvey dodged and jumped up onto the bookshelf, hoisting the smoldering wastebasket up at arms length and shoving it towards the smoke detector.

For a moment, as the elemental coiled itself for another strike, he pondered whether he was going to get a next move. Then an alarm sounded, shrill and loud, as the sprinkler system hissed and showered down a mist, then a rainfall, then a deluge.

The fire elementals didn’t seem to realize their peril. The one at Harvey’s feet leapt for him, met the water head-on, and fizzled into steam without protest. The other one managed to dive for ‘90s Kid’s arm, but was met with a wet flannel shirt to what passed for its nose; as it reared back, it passed directly underneath a shower from the sprinklers and was extinguished with a hiss.

“What technological madness is this?” Malachite howled above the sound of the sheeting water.

“Safety systems,” Harvey grunted as he tossed the wastepaper basket aside and climbed down. His fingers found the tommy gun and slung it back around to face the wizard. “Good stuff, a lot better than in my day.” The wizard looked winded; calling up three elementals must have taken it out of him, even if he’d been siphoning most of the energy from the kid.

Wait, why was Malachite summoning elemental goons, anyway? To hear the kid tell it, when they’d last run into the old wizard, he’d been blowing up people and vehicles with a twist of his staff, throwing around fireballs and blue lightning. The fire-snake-tentacle-things and the mud elemental weren’t exactly his usual style, were they? Did it take less energy to summon beings than to just blow things up?

Malachite ran a thumb over each eye, trying to clear away the wet spray. “Your liege-lord is nearly drained,” he noted, barely audible over the water. “And I seem to recall that safety systems tend to summon the police, as well. I would rather not be here when that happens.” A wet and empty hand fell to Linkara’s forehead as the wizard promised, “We will meet again.” His disappearance was silent; there was a flicker like smoke in wind, then the artificial rain closed over the space where he had been.

“Bogus,” moaned ‘90s Kid from somewhere on the floor. “He got away clean.”

“Let’s just hope he didn’t take anything important with him.” Harvey clambered down to the desktop and then jumped to the floor, making a beeline for the kid in the chair.

“Well, Linkara’s coat and hat are both over there,” the teen called out, pointing. “Like, I don’t think the dude even noticed anything strange about them.”

“Or he did, but figured he’d have plenty of time to work on them later.” Harvey skidded to a stop on the wet industrial carpet and tugged the brim of his own hat down to keep the water out of his face. “Grab it while I get the kid untied.”

Linkara shifted weakly on the chair as Harvey’s fingers found the knots binding his feet. “Who’s there?” he groaned.

“It’s us, kid,” Harvey grunted as he tugged. All the water was making the rope too slick; the knots didn’t want to budge. “Hold on, and we’ll get you out of here.”

“Thanks, dad,” Linkara sighed. His head lolled forward onto his chest, and he went limp as a rag doll.

Harvey’s fingers went numb; his heart felt like it had just stopped beating and frozen solid. Malachite’s lightning bolt was less of a shock. “Wh- what?” he stammered, staring at Linkara’s bloodied face.

90’s Kid arrived at his side, with Linkara’s coat thrown over one shoulder and the hat tucked under the arm that didn’t hold the plasma rifle. “Dude, let’s get him out of here and _then_ untie him,” he suggested. “I think I hear sirens already.”

Snapping out of it, Harvey nodded and shoved his left cuff back. “We got him,” he shouted at his wrist communicator. “Three to beam up!”

“Acknowledged,” Pollo replied, and the world dissolved and reformed around them.

\---

90’s Kid leaned against the doorframe as Harvey and Linksano settled Linkara onto the futon. “Tell me again why we brought him back here to our lame apartment instead of staying on our awesome and well-defended ship?” he demanded. 

“His injuries are physical only in part and secondarily,” Linksano expounded. “My readings indicate that Malachite was, as you noted, using him as a magical battery, drawing upon Linkara’s life-force to power his spells. Therefore, in order for the injuries to heal correctly and for him to recover, we have to let Linkara’s magical energy recharge. The bleeding’s stopped, so his condition’s in no danger of deteriorating further. From the ship’s records, I have deduced that the magical field of his home planet would be more beneficial to the process than the more rarefied and, frankly, alien one of the ship, and we’re unlikely to need Comicron-1’s advanced medical technology at this point. Hand me that pillow.”

“Which one?” ‘90s Kid glanced around. “Oh, the one on the chair? Hold on.” He tossed the cushion to Linksano, who tilted Linkara’s lolling head up and slid the pillow underneath with detached precision.

“How long is the recharge gonna take?” Harvey asked. “I mean, we got a crazy ancient wizard running around out there.”

“Who is himself almost as drained, from your description,” Linksano pointed out. “He will also need time to recharge, and I suspect that without a battery to draw from, he’ll still be relatively weak when he does so. If he tries anything before Linkara is at least conscious and able to give orders, the combination of the security systems and the standard wards should be more than enough to keep him off our backs.” The scientist ran a blinking detector down Linkara’s torso and squinted at the readout. “He’s stable,” Linksano declared. “Someone should sit with him until he comes around; he’ll most likely need hydration as soon as he regains consciousness.”

“Sure thing,” Harvey said. “I’ll take first watch; you two bozos man the lookouts with the robot. I’ll get one of youse in a couple of hours to take over, assuming he’s still out like a light.”

Linksano nodded and left the room, eyes still on the detector’s flickering lights. ‘90s Kid shifted to let him by, adding, “Just give us a shout if you need anything, okay?” before following.

Harvey pulled the now-cushionless chair up to the head of the futon. Linkara seemed to be breathing just fine, despite the re-crusted blood all over his nose and lips. Frowning, Harvey tugged the handkerchief from his breast pocket and glanced around. A mostly-empty water bottle sat on the floor next to the futon; on the one hand, that wasn’t going to be sterile, but on the other hand, it was almost certainly the kid’s - no one else other than the robot spent much time in here. Exposing him to his own germs didn’t seem that bad. Harvey twisted off the cap, pressed the folded cloth tightly to the mouth of the bottle, and upended it briefly to wet it.

He tried to be gentle as he daubed at the half-clotted mess. Why having magic ripped out of you would cause a nosebleed like this was beyond Harvey; he barely understood any of the kid’s hocus-pocus stuff, other than that it worked most of the time. But apparently it was tough if you didn’t have armor of some sort. The kid’s coat and hat were roughly folded at the foot of the futon; Harvey wondered if putting the hat back on him would help.

The blood had made a mess of the kid’s shirt, too, and his clothes were still damp, but there wasn’t much they could do about that until later. Harvey’s fingers unfolded and refolded the kerchief neatly, nearly unconsciously, trying to find a clear spot to clean off the kid’s chin and throat.

As his hand brushed the kid’s face again, Linkara stirred, coughing lightly. Harvey drew back, startled. “Hey, kid,” he whispered, “you back with us?”

“Dad? Where am I?” Linkara rasped. A drop of fresh blood bubbled on his lips.

“Shh, Charlie, you’re home, it’s okay,” Harvey said, before he could stop himself. As the words left his mouth, he felt his heart freeze solid, turn to stone, and plummet to the center of the earth. Squeezing his eyes shut, he turned away and silently cursed himself. _Damn it! I had a fair warning, I should have been prepared for that!_

Linkara’s eyes fluttered open. There was no sign of sclera, iris, or pupil; two blank fields of azure blue light asymmetrically swirled with cloudy white met Harvey’s returning gaze. “Everything’s blurry,” Linkara complained.

“You don’t have your glasses,” Harvey explained. “Either you lost them in the fight, or they’re in one of the magic pockets in your jacket. I couldn’t find them.”

“Not just that,” Linkara slurred. “Too bright. Washed out. What happened, dad?”

Harvey gritted his teeth. “I’m not your papa, kid. It’s me. Harvey.” Each word felt like lead: cold, heavy, and poisonous.

“Oh.” Linkara blinked at him, clearly uncomprehending. “I’m thirsty.”

“Yeah, we figured. I dunno how long Malachite had you tied up, but I’m betting he didn’t give you anything to drink,” Harvey said, glad for the change of subject. “I’ll get you some ice water.”

“Thanks,” Linkara said. It was hard to tell whether his eyes were tracking Harvey or not as he stood and headed for the kitchen.

Memories swam unbidden into Harvey’s head as he walked the short hallway: a small child, in bed, feverish. _Daddy, can you get me a glass of water?_ An older child, still a boy, staring morosely into the middle distance with his leg in a cast. Eyes closed in pain, in sleep, in exhaustion. Apple cheeks grown sallow and sunken. A long walk down a too-bright hallway, ripe with the scents of antiseptic and rubbing alcohol.

A doctor’s voice, with a trace of some Slavic language echoing in his vowels and off the hard tile. _I’m sorry, Mr. Finevoice. We did our best. He kept fighting until the very end - you should be proud of how brave he was._

“No!” Harvey shouted, shoving the memory away. His hands slammed into some heavy object hard enough to rock it; something small hit the floor off to his left.

“Dude, are you okay?”

Harvey realized his eyes were squeezed closed in anger. Opening them carefully, he saw he’d just strong-armed the refrigerator. ‘90s Kid picked up two magnets from the floor and replaced them, keeping Harvey at arm’s length.

Forcing himself to exhale, Harvey nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just a little wound up. Actually, we got some good news - the kid’s coming around, although he seems to be a little bit disorientated still.” He opened a cabinet and hunted for a glass.

“Ooooooooh,” ‘90s Kid said, nodding. His eyebrows raised above the frames of his shades. “So, are you worked up because he called you ‘dad’ again, or what?”

Harvey nearly dropped the tumbler he was holding. “Wait,” he choked out, “you heard that before?”

“I didn’t so much hear it as lip-read it,” ‘90s Kid admitted. “At first I thought he’d called you ‘dude,’ and I wondered if I was rubbing off on him or something, then I saw how you reacted and realized it had to be something else.” He watched as Harvey filled the glass with water from the pitcher in the fridge, then continued, “I don’t think I’ve even met Mama-kara and Papa-kara; have you?”

“Yeah, I have,” Harvey said, dropping a couple of ice cubes into the glass. “Right after the kid first found me. I was a mess, hadn’t eaten anything solid in the past couple of days, and he couldn’t cook worth a damn yet, so he hauled me back to his folks’ place. They fed me two square meals and let me crash for the night on their couch, just on his say-so. I don’t think they really understand what their son does; in fact, I think they’re a little confused by it,” he concluded, “but they’re good people.”

“You mean the reviewing comics on the information superhighway for a living part, or the fighting mad scientists, giant robots, monsters, and aliens part?” ‘90s Kid asked.

“Both, I think,” Harvey said, turning to head back to the study. 

‘90s Kid shook his head and smiled. “Well,” he said quietly, “I’m glad there’s someone here who knows how to do dad-stuff, if that’s what Linkara needs right now. I sure don’t.”

“Of course not; you’re way too young,” Harvey scoffed. Still, he realized, talking with the idiot had helped a little. At least, he no longer wanted to punch through common household appliances.

He settled back into the chair. “Hey, ki- I mean, hey, Linkara, are you still up?”

“Yeah, I’m awake. I just still can’t see anything clearly, and it hurts.” Linkara pushed himself up on his elbows.

“I’ll bring your coat over in just a sec, and we can look for your glasses again,” Harvey promised. “But drink this first.” He pressed the tumbler gently against the back of Linkara’s hand.

Linkara took the glass from him, his hands shaking; he managed to drain the glass in three gulps without spilling most of it. “Thanks, dad,” he whispered.

“I told you,” Harvey said, trying both not to scold and to ignore the heavy sensation in his chest, “I’m not your papa. I’m Harvey. Harvey Finevoice.”

Linkara blinked. “But you look like -” he said, then broke off, unsure of himself. “Harvey’s darker,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

“You said you couldn’t see, kid,” Harvey said, turning to collect the coat from where Linksano had stashed it. “So listen. Do I sound like your papa?”

“No,” Linkara admitted, pulling himself slowly to a seated position. “You sound like Harvey, except warmer.”

“Warmer?” Harvey was puzzled at that. “What does that mean? How do I sound warmer?”

“I don’t know,” Linkara said, and took the coat from him, rummaging through the pockets.

“And how can you even find the pockets in that thing if you can’t see?” Harvey wondered.

“From the glow, and from the feel of them,” Linkara replied. “Oh, wait, I get it! How bad are my eyes? Are they just black holes right now, or what?”

“Malachite’s were black holes,” Harvey said slowly. “Your look more like, I dunno, someone cut out two pieces of the noontime sky and pasted them over your eyeballs.”

“He must not have been scraping the bottom of my barrels yet,” Linkara mused as he pulled his glasses out of one pocket and patted another one. “Good thing he didn’t find Margaret; that could have been a disaster. Anyway, I think what I’m actually seeing is your aura, and my subconscious is just kind of superimposing everything else I’m expecting to see over that. And for some reason, right now your aura looks more like my father’s than what I’d normally expect from you, Harvey.” His brow wrinkled in concern. “Is everything okay?”

“Of course everything’s okay -” Harvey broke off as Linkara shook his head slightly. “You are not going to tell me you can see lies right now,” he protested.

“Okay,” Linkara agreed placidly, “I won’t tell you that.”

Harvey groaned. “Kid, you were kidnapped by an ancient evil wizard. The moron and I had to fight our way through a mud elemental, lightning bolts, and some sort of fire-snake-things to get you back. I got my good suit soaking wet, and I ain’t had time to get to the cleaners yet. It’s been kind of a tough day, all right?”

“Fair enough,” Linkara said, and yawned. “I don’t have a concussion or anything, do I?”

“Not as far as the mad scientist could tell,” Harvey answered. “Why, does your head hurt?” He leaned in closer; one hand found Linkara’s forehead, unbidden. It was clammy, but not feverish.

“Not really,” Linkara said, smiling slightly. “I think I’m just still worn out from being used as Malachite’s backup battery. It sounds like everything’s in good hands; if it’s okay, I’m going to lie back down for another catnap before we work on our next strategic move.”

“I got no problem with that,” Harvey replied, relieved.

As he settled back onto the futon, Linkara asked, “Any chance I could get you to get me the afghan on the couch in the den?”

“Yeah, sure.” Harvey ducked into the other room and collected the afghan. He could hear Linksano and Pollo discussing something seriously technical about the automated defenses, but it didn’t sound like either of them was worried.

When he returned, Linkara’s glasses were in his hat perched on the arm of the futon, and the kid seemed to be asleep and breathing peacefully. Carefully, Harvey draped the afghan around the kid’s shoulders.

One hand unfolded and clutched at the throw blanket. “Would you sing for me, daddy?” Linkara mumbled, his eyes still closed.

Harvey sat back in the chair, waiting to see if the weight in his chest would burst through his ribcage. When it seemed content to stay where it was, heavy though it might be, he nodded, and crooned:

_Hush, little baby, don’t say a word;_  
_Papa’s gonna buy you a mockingbird ...._


End file.
